


Say Those Words (I long to hear)

by thinlizzy2



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Carrying, Drug Use, Hair-stroking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, RPF, Singing to Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/pseuds/thinlizzy2
Summary: John Lennon was rich, famous and loved.  He could walk out of this hotel into a city of beautiful people and pull anyone he liked.  Hell, he could probably knock on any door of this hotel and be invited in for a good time.  But instead he was tucked up in bed next to his sick mate, cradling him and longing for him, and Paul would never understand that.John is not a likely nurse, but for Paul he'll make the effort.





	Say Those Words (I long to hear)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



John Lennon cursed under his breath, his back straining as he half-carried and half-dragged Paul McCartney down the hotel corridor to his room. John had never been much of an athlete, and though Paul was far from heavyset it still took a substantial effort to lift him. For a moment, the idea of asking someone for help flitted through John's brain, but he quickly dismissed it. Even if he could safely leave Paul behind to seek out assistance, he know he could never let anyone else - even just one of the other lads - see Paul like this. His friend was barely conscious, slurring his speech and alternating between hysterical laughter and pitiful retching. Just the thought of someone else seeing Paul in this state made John want to preemptively claw their eyes out.

He'd do that and more to the boys who'd given Paul this junk in the first place, if he ever saw them again. They'd been damn lucky that he'd had bigger fish to fry than them, once he'd seen the state Paul was in. But make no mistake; he'd remember all their faces. The idea of them having the nerve to give Paul their tainted filth made his blood boil. 

Although it was true that John was certainly in no place to lecture anyone about the drugs they chose to take or give to others. He'd taken just about everything there was, and it could have easily been him in that alley instead of Paul on any other night. But hey - he'd never claimed to not be a hypocrite. And just because something was good enough for him didn't make it anywhere near good enough for Paul.

The door to Paul's room had been left unlocked, so John was able to get it open without putting Paul down. He made a mental note to talk to Paul about that. The boy was still a stupid, middle-class, trusting idiot at heart, and he somehow didn't fully comprehend that he was fucking _famous_ now. He couldn't just go leaving his room open like that; any loon from the streets could come prancing in and steal his pants or lick his pillow or whatnot. Then again, maybe he'd been _hoping_ for company. Some pretty bird, maybe, or one of the boys with the drugs. John gritted his teeth and locked the door behind them. Whoever they were, they could find some other fun tonight.

He managed to get Paul, who had gone scarily silent, onto the bed. He wondered about calling a doctor. Maybe he could find one who would take a wad of cash in exchange for a combination of treatment and silence, but he didn't know this city and he didn't know who he could trust. The thought of Paul under arrest or even imprisoned because of something that John had done was intolerable. He'd just have to do the best he could on his own.

Water, then. John knew from experience how wretched a dry and dirty mouth could make someone feel when they were coming down, and flushing out Paul's system wouldn't hurt either. He warmed enough water to fill a mug and then dipped a flannel for Paul to suck on. That would be safer than giving it to him from the cup, less chance of choking.

Getting Paul propped up on the pillows was a bit of an effort in and of itself. John held the dripping flannel up to Paul's lips. "Open up, love." He wasn't completely sure that Paul could understand him, but he did part his lips enough for John to put the cloth in.

After a few minutes of suckling, Paul pushed John's hand away. He mumbled something that John couldn't quite make out. _"Are you playing mother?"_ , maybe, or possibly just _"Are you my mother?" "I want my mother"_ was another one that it might have been, and the very thought of that made John's heart ache. For a wild moment, he contemplated whether he should ring Mary McCartney. Just hearing her voice might help Paul feel safer. But Paul would never forgive John if he let on to his mum that he was doing drugs with strangers in alleyways. Hell, he'd be furious with John if he so much as made his mum _worry._

Still, John had spent more than enough time with the McCartneys to know what the matriarch did when one of her children was sick. He put his cup and flannel down and then carefully settled himself into the bed beside Paul. Paul stirred slightly, but he didn't move away from John. On the contrary, his head slowly sank down to John's shoulder, and John felt his heart slowly turn over.

Not now, he reminded himself. Focus on Paul.

Gently, he stroked Paul's hair, the way he'd seen Mary do for Ruth when she was poorly. Paul hummed with pleasure, so John figured he'd got it right. He couldn't remember just which lullaby Mary liked to sing to her sick children, so he sang snippets of all the ones he knew: Rock-a-bye, You Are My Sunshine, Mamma's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird. When he ran out of children's ditties, he found himself softly crooning bits of songs that he and Paul had perfected together.

_"Oh yeah, I'll tell you something / I think you'll understand / When I say that something/ I want to hold your hand..."_

John almost laughed out loud at the irony of his own choice. The truth was, he _didn't_ think Paul would understand, not even if he was sober. John Lennon was rich, famous and beloved. He could walk out of this hotel into a city of beautiful people and pull anyone he liked. Hell, he could probably knock on any door in the building and be invited in for a good time. But instead he was tucked up in bed next to his sick mate, cradling him and longing for him, and Paul would never understand that.

John was so lost in his self-pity that he missed Paul's next mumbled interjection. He stopped his singing, reaching down to tilt Paul's face towards his. "What is it, love? Do you need more to drink?"

"Nah... I was just saying it sounds good..." Paul seemed much more coherent already, and relief made John weak. He'd be all right. Paul went on. "The old stuff, I mean. I miss it sometimes..."

John knew the safest thing to do in this situation would have been to make a joke about it being hard to make Revolution 9 sound soothing, get himself out of this bed somehow and leave Paul to sleep it off. But Paul wasn't moving away from him, and John didn't know how many more chances he would get in this lifetime to lie in a warm soft bed with a warm soft Paul in his arms. So instead he did the stupid, foolish, entirely typical thing and tightened his grip a bit, pulling Paul halfway on top of him. "Want to hear more?"

Paul made a noise that John chose to take as an affirmation. He closed his eyes and sang as sweetly as he could.

_"And when I touch you / I feel happy inside / It's such a feeling that my love / I can't hide..."_

Paul's hand closed around John's.

John's eyes snapped open. "Paul?" He whispered, "Macca?" Paul seemed to be sleeping. John groaned. "Paul, you can't just..."

There were so many ways to finish that sentence. You can't just destroy yourself and make me watch. You can't just touch me like it's easy and harmless. You can't just be this beautiful and live in the same world as so much ugliness. Unable to choose just one, John settled for pressing a soft kiss into Paul's messy, sweaty hair. "I mean, you really can't."

There was no response. John wondered again if he should call a doctor, but Paul's breathing was calmer now and his colour looked better. John couldn't bring himself to move.

So instead he held Paul just a little bit tighter still and started to sing again.

_"Listen / Do you want to know a secret? / Do you promise not to tell? / I'm in love with you..."_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for blueteak for the Hurt Comfort Exchange 2019. I'm not sure if this stayed just Hurt Paul or ventured into Both Hurt territory, but I hope you enjoyed it at any rate, blueteak!


End file.
